Cookie Cutter
by MykEsprit
Summary: Scorpius is kidnapped from his bedroom. Draco and Hermione follow a trail of crumbs—literally—to rescue their son. Written for the D/Hr Advent 2018.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.

A/N: Written for D/Hr Advent 2018. A huge "Thank You" to those who nominated me to take part in this fest! And thanks to the fantastic mods!

Prompt: Cookie Cutter

Trigger Warning: Kidnapping, Divorced Dramione, Open ending, Muggle AU

* * *

The hardwood floor creaked; that's how Scorpius knew it was coming to get him.

Their flat was newly built. The brass hardware shone. All the lights worked. Every surface was sturdy and perfect—except for that part of his room. Every time someone stepped on that patch of floor, it squeaked like a mouse in a trap.

His mum sent him to bed hours ago. The clattering in the kitchen had long ceased. His mum's light footsteps disappeared at the end of the hallway. The flat was dark and slumbering.

Then there was that high-pitched _Eek_!—sharp and quick. For a moment, he convinced himself that it was a hallucination, an almost-dream in his state of almost-sleep.

But he felt its gaze on him—a stare so heavy that it trapped him under the blanket.

Part of him thought that if he lay still and pretended to be asleep, it would go away. Trick it; outsmart it. Like what his dad would do. A larger part of him—the part that he got from his mum, according to everyone—needed to see what was coming. To face the monster head-on.

And as much as he looked like his Draco, he was very much his Hermione's son.

Mustering his courage, Scorpius curled his fingers over the edge of the thick comforter and peeked down the bed.

The figure lumbered across the room, its footsteps slow and halting like a toddler taking its first steps. It made steady progress towards him on its thick legs. Shadows hid its craggy face. Something oozed from the top of its head—dark red in the dim light. Its colossal arms swung at its side, and the bulky fingers of its right hand wrapped around an object.

Moonlight poured in from the large window; it bounced off a thin, long blade that protruded from its grip.

It reached the edge of his bed, towering over him, blocking out the scant light. Child and creature faced each other—the former frozen with fear, the latter as still and unreadable as a statue. Then, it reached its broad hand towards the boy.

Scorpius opened his mouth and screamed.

* * *

He pounded on the door. It was past midnight, but he didn't care about waking up the neighbors. Not after the Owl he just received.

The door flew open, and he stumbled backwards as a body slammed into him, lean arms wrapping around his neck. Taken by surprise, he fell back on an old habit, his fingers burying in her mass of dark curls.

"Hermione." He projected a confidence he did not feel—self-assurance that was quickly draining from his muscles as the woman trembled in his arms. Every day, he faced situations that would give lesser men nightmares. He met each standoff with a calloused grin.

A frightened Hermione scared the shit out of him.

"Draco." Her voice was shaky; panic mixed with grief. "Draco, he's gone."

He pried her off and held her at arm's length. "What happened?"

Hermione wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged him inside the flat. She dragged him through the open living space. One end of the room displayed a set of matched couches. On the other side, the kitchen island held a neat stack of baking tools, colored metal bent into different shapes. They pulled into a short hallway and entered the second door on the left.

Inside the bedroom, bookshelves were arranged. Toys had been put away in a colorful chest in the corner of the room. Everything looked to be in proper order—except for the bed, which was missing an eight-year-old boy.

Draco walked over to the rumpled bed. Dread weighed on his heart as he touched the half-tossed blanket on the floor.

"—in bed a few hours ago." Hermione's voice pushed through the ringing in his ears, and he forced himself to listen. "I heard him scream," she said, "and I bolted in here. But he was gone. It couldn't have been more than three seconds from when he yelled to when I rushed inside."

Draco rustled the covers on the bed. Bits of brown clumps fell to the floor.

"Dirt?" He sank to one knee and pressed a few fallen chunks on his fingers. They crumbled as he rolled them between his thumb and forefinger. His lips pulled into a frown. "No, not dirt." The faint smell of sugar and vanilla wafted up. "Cookie crumbs?"

Bending low, he followed a trail of crumbs from the side of the bed to the large window. The curtains had been pulled apart. Draco traced the window frame, checking to see if the lock was secured. A sticky substance gummed on his fingertips. He pulled his hand down, shocked to find his fingers covered in sugary orange paste.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

Hermione sidled up, swiping some of the substance onto her own fingers. "Icing. Orange icing." She glanced up at the window frame. "I—I mixed up a small batch of orange icing for a gingerbread man. But how did it get up there?"

"Cookie crumbs," Draco mumbled, "and icing?" He shook his head. He expected signs of struggle—had steeled himself for evidence of foul play—but cookie crumbs and icing took him by surprise.

Hermione mirrored his reaction. "I don't know." Her fingers raked her disheveled curls."We baked cookies all night. Tried to make a gingerbread house and a gingerbread family. And the icing—it could have been from when we were decorating the cookies." She frowned. "But I don't know how it got on the window. It's far too high for Scorp to reach."

Draco rubbed his forehead, his gaze flitting from the tousled bed sheets to the obscure trail of crumbs to the glass. Panic washed over him, his mind unable to formulate the next step in the investigation.

Hands settled on his shoulders.

"Draco." Hermione's eyes reflected his own internal screaming. Beyond the frenzy, however, he found something that anchored him, something that drew him to her all those years ago—faith. The belief that he, Draco Malfoy, was smart enough, brave enough.

Good enough.

He clung to that look in her eyes as he took a fortifying breath.

As he exhaled, he divorced himself from emotion. He took the rampant screaming in his head—"Scorpius is missing! Scorpius is missing!"—and pushed it to the dark corners of his mind. His gaze swept the room again.

A missing boy and a trail of crumbs. Faced with meager evidence, his Auror training kicked into gear. He waved his wand over the crumbs and icing still on his hand. After a nerve-wracking moment, the crumbs and icing glowed. The ones on the floor followed suit, lighting a path towards the window. Draco hurried to look outside. On the damp pavement, crumbs and small splatters of icing lit a trail down the street and disappeared around the bend.

WIth a stiff frown, he turned to Hermione. "Let's go."

* * *

The glowing crumbs veered off the street and into the woods. Draco and Hermione sprinted side by side, following the faint trail. Human noises—the rumble of a passing car, the slam of a distant door—fell away as they ran deeper in the woods. Soon, the only sounds left were the crunching of leaves and snow under their boots and their heavy, erratic panting as they dashed.

Clouds of condensation puffed out of their mouths, highlighted by the white glow of their wands. Thoughts of Scorpius flashed through Hermione's mind—her son wandering the woods alone in the dark with only his thin pyjamas against the biting cold.

Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. There was no time to pause, no time to breathe, no time to think. There would be time for self-reproach later when her son was safe and warm in his own bed.

They followed the trail around a clump of trees...and her stomach curdled. The glowing crumbs had tapered off, disappeared—

And Scorpius wasn't there.

Hermione wrapped the cloak she had Transfigured from her nightgown tighter around her. Her limbs felt iced, her insides numb—and it had nothing to do with the dropping temperatures.

She glanced back. The trail of crumbs had disappeared—melted right into the thin layer of snow. Only their footprints remained.

As she stood frozen, her eyes glued to the carpet of dead leaves and bright snow, Draco paced the area. His eyes, dark and frantic, combed the ground for crumbs and searched the bark for smears of glowing icing.

"Where—?" He scratched his nails along his scalp; tugged at the roots of his hair. "Where the fuck did it go?" He waved his wand, muttering the tracking spell again. He swiveled his head, willing the glow to commence and show him the way. Desperation clawed at his chest.

A soft thud made him turn.

Hermione had fallen to her knees. Snow melted quickly under her, seeping into her dark cloak. Her gaze lifted to meet his, and he felt himself falling in the vast emptiness of her eyes.

Her expression devoid of hope. Her belief in him stolen by his overwhelming incompetence.

"Aaaaargh!" Draco whirled around, his fist making contact with the nearest tree. Above him, branches shook; snow fell in large clumps. Draco pummeled the trunk, again and again, the rough bark scuffing his knuckles raw.

A sharp intake of breath from behind him stilled his fists.

"Sorry," Hermione whispered. "Sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I lost him. I lost our son."

Draco braced his hands against the tree. His head hung as her words reached his ears and wrenched his heart.

Hermione's soft cries turned into sobs; he threw himself to his knees in front of her. Tears fell from her eyes. He cradled her cheeks in his large hands.

His touch startled her back into her body, and she blinked, focusing on his intense, gray eyes.

"No," he rasped. "No, it's not your fault." He wiped away the cold streaks from her face. "It's mine. I should never have left the two of you alone."

She tried to shake her head—assure him that they were both to blame—but he rested his forehead against hers. The cold tips of their noses grazed; the familiar touch caused a painful yearning to surface.

"I wasn't there to protect my son." Draco closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. "Protect my family. I should have never left, Hermione."

She pulled back. Tears poured from the corners of his eyes, and she erased them with the pads of her thumbs. "I should have stopped you from going," she breathed.

His eyes widened with hope and anguish, brows furrowed with an unspoken question.

Hermione nodded. "Let's go find our son," she said. "We'll find our son. Together. And then, Draco Malfoy, _come home_."

His jaw clenched; his lips pressed into a line. He nodded twice before getting back on his feet.

"Together?" Draco asked roughly. He held a hand out to her.

Hermione grasped his palm, letting him pull her up. "Together." She laced her fingers through his.

Then, they set off once again. Though they no longer had a glowing path to follow, they still had plenty of tools in their arsenal. Draco's formidable tracking skills. Hermione's expansive knowledge. Their strong bond to their son, tugging at their instincts.

And each other—for neither let the other one go.

* * *

A sliver of moonlight filtered through the cracks. Even in the near darkness of the cave, the knife gleamed.

Scorpius sat as still as he could. A stony hand clamped over his shoulder anyway, holding him in place.

"My mum and dad are coming to get me," Scorpius whispered. He wasn't sure if the creature could hear him—could even understand him—but he repeated the words over and over to bolster his courage.

Eventually, the monster growled. "Your parents aren't coming, kid."

"They are." Scorpius sniffed. "They're coming."

"Your mum? Maybe." The monster laughed, low and rough, like a boulder rolling down a rocky mountainside. "Your dad, though. He's not coming. He doesn't care enough about you to get you."

Scorpius hugged his legs and pressed his face on his knees. For a while, there was nothing but the sounds of his whimpers bouncing on the walls of the small cave.

A faint staccato quieted his breath. When the pattering grew louder, Scorpius looked up. Near the mouth of the cave were two points of light. They grew bigger and brighter as the sounds of footsteps came closer.

Scorpius jumped to his feet. "Mum! Dad!" He tried to rush them, making it only a few steps before the monster picked him up by the waist.

"Scorpius!" His mum yelled. "Scorpius, hang on!"

"Scorp!" His dad shouted down the cave.

Scorpius' heart swelled at the sound of his voice. "Dad! I'm here, Dad!" He reached out, his arms flailing as he grappled the air. " _Dad_!"

The monster growled and crushed Scorpius closer against his chest.

Moments later, Draco and Hermione reached him. Their wands lit up the cave; their faces transformed from relief to disgust as they took in the monster before them.

Its flat, black eyes stared at them. The corners of its white lips pulled back into a snarl, revealing a dark, empty mouth. Orange ooze dripped slowly from the top of its head and over its crudely shaped face.

"Merlin," Hermione whispered. She glanced at Draco from the corner of her eyes.

Draco squeezed her fingers and nodded. "Together."

They pointed their wands at the towering monster and yelled, " _Reducto_!"

With a screech, the monster exploded. It blew into bits no bigger than a fist. Dust rained down as larger chunks littered the ground.

The arm that gripped him disappeared, and briefly, Scorpius fell. Magic wrapped around him, lowering him safely to the ground. As soon as his toes touched the cool stone, his mum and dad wrapped their arms around him.

"You came for me." Scorpius' shoulders shook as he laughed through his tears. "You came here together, and you came and got me."

His dad rubbed the top of his blond head. "Of course, we did, son—"

oooo

"'… _We will always come for you_.' Then, my mum turned to me,'" Mrs. Whitby read, "'and said, 'Let's go home now.' I asked her, 'Is Dad coming, too?' And she said yes."

Hermione blinked back tears; they had been threatening to flow down her cheeks from the moment Mrs. Whitby began to read.

"And then me and my mum and my dad went home," continued the teacher, "and we lived happily ever after with no more monsters. The end.'"

Scorpius' story was written simply, but Hermione's mind filled in the details. It played like a movie in her head, from Scorp's abduction to the explosion of the gingerbread monster.

And that part in the middle, when she and Draco held each other in their grief...

She shook her head, shaking the embellished scenes from her mind. The brew of emotions, however—that lingered.

With a sigh, Mrs. Whitby placed Scorpius' handwritten story on her desk. "As you can see, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy—"

" _Granger_ ," Hermione rasped. Clearing her throat, she said more firmly, "I go by Granger now. Again."

In the chair next to her, Draco turned his face away. He crossed his knees, and his fingers gripped the ends of his armrests.

"My apologies." Mrs. Whitby flashed them a professional smile. "Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy, Scorpius is,"—she sighed again—"such a gifted child. Exceptional. Creative." She waved her hand over the paper filled with Scorp's blocky handwriting. "This story—filled with magic and monsters—on the surface, it's fantastic. So imaginative and brilliant—and he's quite eloquent for his age."

Draco raked his fingers through his hair.

"The thing about such brilliant children," Mrs. Whitby said carefully, "is that they will often use different outlets to help them process the world around them." She coughed politely, pasting a polite grin back on her lips. "I don't want to overstep my role, but from what I gather, there have been some changes at home."

Draco crossed his arms.

Hermione glanced away from them both, staring blankly out the window. The empty playground looked too bright and colorful under the steel grey clouds.

Mrs. Whitby prattled on. "It might be good to sit down with Scorpius. See what he needs to help him with this transition. Children his age, as brilliant as they are,"—her fingers played with a corner of the paper in front of her—"they're not always the best at directly asking for help. And this story—it might be his way of reaching out."

Hermione glanced back. Mrs. Whitby's keen eyes burrowed into hers.

"Scorpius is telling us something," Mrs. Whitby said gently, looking at them in turn. "And we need to listen."

* * *

Neither Draco nor Hermione said a word as they exited the school and ambled down the stone steps. The private school was expensive—at least for Hermione, who offered to split the cost evenly. While it took a large chunk of her monthly budget, the school was worth its weight in gold—especially with teachers like Mrs. Whitby.

They walked along the quiet street, stopping only when they reached Hermione's silver car.

"Well." She cleared her throat and faced him, though she couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I'll bring Scorpius by the Manor after school tomorrow."

Draco nodded. "Sure." He started towards the end of the block, where his driver waited by the side of a black town car.

Stamping down a swell of disappointment, she turned to her vehicle. She fished her car keys from her purse.

"Hermione?" Draco took hesitant steps back to her. The corners of his lips pulled up into a slow-forming grin. "So. 'Cookie Monster,' eh?" He combed his fingers through his blond hair, which grazed the curve of his ears. "He certainly got your dislike of sweets," he teased.

Hermione shook her head, softly chuckling. "I believe Scorp called it the 'Cookie _Cutter_ ,'" she corrected.

"Ah. 'Cutter.'" He mimicked a stabbing motion with his hand. "Well, he certainly has a flair for the dramatic."

Hermione threw her head back and laughed. " _That_ ,"—she pressed a finger against his shoulder—"he got from you."

His laughter joined hers. For a moment, she was thrown into memories. Draco's laughter was deep and booming—and completely went against his cool aesthetic. It took her by surprise when she first heard it; and, for a while, she reveled in it.

It echoed in their home, mingling with their son's dulcet giggles.

Over the years, the laughter slowly diminished. And then, it was gone.

The harsh reminder was like a bucket of ice over her head. Hermione pressed her fist against her mouth and coughed politely.

With a heavy sigh, Draco nodded and turned to leave.

She pulled on the door handle but hesitated. Mrs. Whitby's words ran through her head, and no matter what happened between her and Draco—Scorpius always came first.

To both of them.

She called Draco back.

"Yes?" He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket, eyeing her with a guarded expression.

"Scorp and I are going to spend Christmas Eve with the Weasleys." She licked her lips nervously as irritation flashed across Draco's face. Still, she carried on. "But, if you don't have any plans for Christmas day—"

"You want to drop off him off at the Manor?" His tone was even, although, despite their time apart, Hermione had no problem picking out the bitter note.

She shook her head. "Actually, I was wondering—if you're not busy—do you want to come over to the flat and spend Christmas with us?"

His hard mask slipped. "Yeah?" he asked roughly.

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think Scorp would really like that." She wanted to add, "We both would." She dug her teeth into her bottom lip before the words could come out.

"Yeah." His grey eyes softened as he regarded her. "Yes. I'd love to join you for Christmas."

Heat flooded her cheeks. She nodded quickly and ducked inside her car. As she turned on the ignition, Draco knocked softly against her window.

She rolled it down, and Draco's teasing smile warmed his expression.

"Oh, and Hermione?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Yes?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. "Maybe skip the Christmas cookies this year?"

She mocked a solemn expression. "That's probably a good idea."

As she pulled away from the curb, Draco's bright laughter followed her down the street.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews are appreciated.

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